


The Bermuda Triangle

by Frenchsoda



Category: RWBY
Genre: A little bit of angst, A lot of Suffering Weiss, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bees Schnees, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Schnee Week, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29031561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchsoda/pseuds/Frenchsoda
Summary: It’s an impossible balance, a Bermuda Triangle of human nature, and it has to stay that way, a triangle, three dots separated by an unbreakable distance. Blake can look from afar, hold her breath when she catches white or blonde hair dancing on the beach or in the hotel, dream about icy eyes burning her skin with a stare too intense, about lilac eyes soothing her aches by stripping her bare. But she can’t get closer. She can’t give in to Yang’s flirtatious smile, or to her wild desire to pin Weiss against a wall and ask her why, why do you hate me, what did I ever do to you, why can’t you just shut up and kiss me, bite me, scratch me, mark me.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Weiss Schnee/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 8
Kudos: 82





	The Bermuda Triangle

**Author's Note:**

> Schnee Week - Day 3: Weiss multiship day

Oh, great. She’s here. Weiss doesn’t know what she expected, considering Blake has been working here for the past three weeks, but she’s certainly displeased with that harsh reality. She can’t stand this. Her sitting all aloof on her lifeguard tower, watching the beach—Weiss’s beach—with so much disdain anyone could spot her contempt from a mile away. Actually, scratch that. Weiss just can’t stand her. She couldn’t from the moment she first saw her, all delicate presence and piercing eyes, staring at Weiss with too much curiosity and intent. One look at her and Weiss’s stomach twisted.

Weiss’s sixth sense is never wrong. Ever. So, if five seconds standing next to Blake made her feel _something_ , uneasy, threatened, it means she can’t trust that girl. Somehow, Blake is fake. And for the past three weeks, Weiss made it her job to let that phony know just how lowly she esteems her.

Weiss drapes herself in her light blue shawl, leaves the stone path connecting the hotel to the beach and digs her feet in the sand. It’s fresh, in this early hour, and it immediately cools her irritation down. As she walks towards the lifeguard tower, she takes a few deep breaths. There’s something about feeling the ocean, iodine in the air, lapping waves in her ears, red sun painting the sky. Something delicate and calming, something unfamiliar.

Weiss is usually never up at this ungodly hour, but today is a special day. Today, her father comes back from his one-month trip, and she wanted to enjoy the tad bit of freedom she had left before his thirst for control suffocates her once again. So, she rose with dawn, didn’t bother to put on her shoes and silently walked from her suite to the beach with the firm intention to enjoy a breathtaking sunrise on a deserted shore.

That was, of course, before she spotted dark hair dancing in the gentle wind, perfect curves stretched on the high seat and that freaking gorgeous face turned towards the crimson sky—because _of course_ Blake is gorgeous, she had to be, a gorgeous fake girl that nobody can deny, nobody but Weiss—.

“What are you doing here this early?” she hisses when she reaches the tower, eyes lifted towards the lifeguard.

Blake sighs obnoxiously in response, gaze anchored on the flaming horizon. “I’m always here this early. You would know if you didn’t get up at, what, noon every day?”

“I do not—” Weiss fumes, but she stops herself before her exasperation takes over. Blake has an extraordinary talent for getting under her skin faster than anyone else, but she can’t let it show, she can’t let it faze her.

“You should watch your tone,” she snarls instead. This time, Blake drops her eyes on her, so haughty Weiss’s cheeks burn with annoyance. “Just because you’re the daughter of the state governor doesn’t mean you get a free pass with everyone.”

“And just because you’re the daughter of Jacques Schnee doesn’t mean you get to be a bitch whenever you want.”

Weiss lets out an offended squeak. _How dare she_. “Watch it, Belladonna. Or I’ll get you fired,” she threatens, voice as calm as she can manage.

Blake snorts. “And how are you going to do that, hm? Run to daddy and tell him someone was mean to you?” Before a very outraged Weiss can come up with a deadly riposte, Blake looks up and growls. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Her eyes are fastened on a new and unknown danger behind Weiss, and the heiress turns around, only to meet the shit-eating grin of her second nemesis.

“God dammit,” she mutters.

This day can’t get any worse.

***

_Perfect. Absolutely perfect._ The two women who clearly want her dead are both here. Well, time to bring out the charm. Yang clutches her surfboard and flashes her smuggest smile, hoping it’ll unnerve both of the tempestuous girls scowling at her. One she wants to tease, the other she wants to anger. She halts in front of them, eyes falling from Blake’s disdainful face to Weiss’s redden cheeks. Oh, something clearly just went on between those two.

“Hey, ice queen,” Yang smirks. Weiss rolls her eyes and looks away, jaw clenched. So that’s how it is. Not even a hello, uh. Yang can make her talk anyway. She widens her smirk and points at Weiss’s bare feet. “You forgot to put on your heels, princess. Got too big for them?”

Weiss’s face is now as crimson as the sky, but instead of the usual lashing out, she takes a deep breath and pinches her nose.

“You know what?” she groans. “I’m not fighting with you today. Save your wit for when I give a fuck.”

“Ouch!” Yang dramatically sets her hand on her heart with an exaggerated and pained expression, but Weiss is already turning around and walking away. “What’s up with her?” the surfer mutters, eyes lingering a bit too long on the slim silhouette tracing an elegant path along the beach.

“Don’t ask me,” Blake shrugs from her seat.

Weiss’s dress flows around her, hugging her figure, dancing on white skin, and as she draws away her movements don’t seem so stiff anymore, as if the more distance she puts between her and the two girls, the better she’s breathing. Not that surprising, considering Weiss _hates_ Blake and Yang, but she usually puts up a decent fight before storming off the place.

“I guess it’s just the two of us now,” Yang hums tentatively.

“ _Awesome_.”

Blake’s sarcasm doesn’t escape her, and she sighs. “I know why _she_ hates me, but I still have no idea what I ever did to you.”

“You come and talk to me constantly during my shift. You’re loud. You make terrible jokes. You keep distracting me from work. _Every single day_.”

“So you think I’m distracting, uh.”

Blake shoots her a death stare. God, she’s beautiful. Feisty and powerful, towering over her like a queen over her peasant, and Yang fucking loves it.

“I think you’re obnoxious,” Blake counters.

It shouldn’t have an effect on her, but it does. Yang can only think about that moment when the tables will turn, when she’ll make Blake beg on her knees and _she_ will be the one looking down on her. She knows it’ll come. Blake is good at hiding the signs, but not good enough.

Yang chooses to ignore the insult, as she always does when it comes from Blake. “At least we have one thing in common.” She points at Weiss, now just a shadow wandering on a coral coast. “Our deep, _deep_ adoration for the Schnee princess over there.”

“I’m not discussing that with you.”

“I’m just saying, Belladonna. If you ever want to make her suffer, we can join forces.”

Blake snorts. “I don’t want to make her suffer. I just want her to leave me alone.”

“That could be arranged too.”

She grins, and she spots that spark in Blake’s eyes, that sudden glint that says so, so much before it fades away for a duller shade. Oh, yes. The moment will come. Yang just has to be patient, and to use her best assets in the meantime.

“Looks like the waves are getting decent. See you, Belladonna!”

As she walks away, surfboard tucked under her arm, she makes sure to give some extra hip swing at each step, and she can feel Blake’s burning stare on her.

***

The thing is, Yang is hot. There’s no way around it. Blake can lie to herself all she wants, the truth will always come out in the shape of a blonde goddess glistening with water and sunshine, all hard muscles and soft curves, all strength and appeal in her surfing wetsuit. Yang is hot, and she’s _exactly_ her type. A shiny, unruly, confident girl with the brightest smile Blake has ever seen and a body that could bring a whole nation to its knees. But Yang is also loud. And excessive. And smug, and a player. She draws attention wherever she goes. And since she seems to always gravitate around Blake, she draws attention to _her_. And Blake can’t have that.

She needs peace. She needs quiet. She needs to fade in the shadows and she needs people to not care about her, to not remember her name. She didn’t flee from the other side of the state so that she’d get mixed up in a new drama featuring the two hottest girls on earth. Because if she gets involved with Yang, she gets involved with Weiss. That’s how it is. That’s how it works. She’s been here for three weeks now and, somehow, since Yang arrived two weeks ago, the three of them always seem to cross each other’s path.

It’s an impossible balance, a Bermuda Triangle of human nature, and it has to stay that way, a triangle, three dots separated by an unbreakable distance. Blake can look from afar, hold her breath when she catches white or blonde hair dancing on the beach or in the hotel, dream about icy eyes burning her skin with a stare too intense, about lilac eyes soothing her aches by stripping her bare. But she can’t get closer. She can’t give in to Yang’s flirtatious smile, or to her wild desire to pin Weiss against a wall and ask her why, why do you hate me, what did I ever do to you, why can’t you just shut up and kiss me, bite me, scratch me, mark me.

Blake shivers. No. She has to stop daydreaming. Her job needs focus. Lives could depend on it. Even if, right now, the only person swimming is Yang, who keeps riding the waves at full speed, graceful and talented and strong, in no need to be rescued. God, she’s beautiful.

Blake takes a deep breath. Yang is beautiful, yes, but also arrogant, and noisy, and she has no respect for personal boundaries. She’s always picking a fight with Weiss whenever she can—not that Blake minds Weiss being persecuted, but they are just so _loud_ , always arguing, sparring with cutting words and masterful sass, and inevitably dragging Blake into their disputes for no valid reason—.

And Blake can’t take the fighting anymore. She begged her father to find her a job overnight at the other side of the state and ran away from home to avoid the attention, the toxicity, the arguments. To avoid the press and the glares from every passerby she met. She made one mistake, and suddenly she became a circus freak. Now, she just wants to blend in, to be yet another random girl in the crowd. She just wants people to not remember her name and, somehow, her name is always on the tip of Yang’s and Weiss’s tongue.

So, yeah. It has to stay that way. Them hating each other and never crossing the distance, never acting on the fierce stares and the shorten breaths. Because if one of them caves, everything will fall apart. And from that implosion, only chaos could ensue.

***

Yang barges in the room she shares with her sister and grins at the red-haired girl sitting on her bed, a laptop on her thighs.

“Rubs! Do you want to go hiking? The sea is dead flat and I don’t want to laze around all day long.”

“Oh, sorry Yang, I’m applying to a few local stores this afternoon.”

Yang drops on her bed with a discontented groan. “Again? Look, it’s good that you want to make some money, but you should chill out a bit! Enjoy your free time! Everything is paid by my sponsor, it’s more than okay to think of all of this as a free vacation.”

“I know but, I—” Ruby’s eyes dart to her feet, the window, the door. “I just feel bad not doing anything, you know? You’re surfing almost every day and it’s thanks to you that we get a free room and free meals, and I’m just doing nothing.” She lets a nervous laugh slip and scratches the back of her head. “So, yeah, I really want to work, I guess?”

Yang squints. Ruby is acting suspiciously. Even more than usual. When they first arrived at the Schnee hotel, all she did was loaf at the beach, convince unknown boys to play beach volley with her and overall just enjoy this amazing opportunity Yang got for the both of them. And then, three days later, Ruby suddenly decided she absolutely _needed_ to get a job, and she has been looking for one ever since. She got a few shifts at a restaurant nearby, but it’s apparently not enough for her new found code of honor.

“Fine,” Yang eventually sighs. “I’ll ask Pyrrha. She’s probably as bummed as I am that we have no decent waves.”

“Good idea!” Ruby laughs nervously once again, and Yang resists the urge to ask. Something is clearly up, but whenever she questions her, Ruby always sticks to her evasive answers. So be it. Yang will find out the truth eventually.

“Alright, off I go.” She jumps out of her bed and opens the door. “See you later!”

Ruby waves at her until she closes the door, and Yang sighs in the corridor. This stay is also supposed to be about Ruby and her spending some time together, but she has barely seen her little sister since they arrived two weeks ago. Oh, well. She did make some amazing friends here, so it’s not like she’s spending all of her free time alone.

Yang climbs the stairs to reach the fourth floor, where Pyrrha’s room is located, and as she turns around the corner, she crashes into another hotel customer.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry!” she blurts while rubbing her forearm, where she got hit by an unwary elbow.

“No it’s my fault, are you alr—Oh. It’s you.”

Yang can’t contain her smile when she sees Blake’s face—and the utter displeasure she displays.

“Hey, Belladonna. Fancy meeting you here.”

Blake rolls her eyes. “This is my room floor.”

“I know.” Maybe she sounds like a creeper, but Yang doesn’t care. It’s not like she followed Blake. She just happened to see her here one night, when she was on her way to get Pyrrha for some drinking game with Nora, Ren and Jaune—all sponsored together by AtlasWear.

“And what are _you_ doing here?”

“I’m going to see Pyrrha and try to convince her to join me for a hike.”

Blake nods. “Alright then. Enjoy your day.”

Yang smiles. It’s one of the most civilized—if not the most civilized—conversation they ever had, and it feels like progress.

“Thanks, you too.”

As she starts turning around, the elevator chimes and, as soon as she spots white hair waltzing in the corridor, she grabs Blake by the wrist and yanks her to the corner.

“What—”

Yang presses a finger on Blake’s lips to silence her, and the touch sparks an electric wave that runs through her whole body. Oh, god. Her lips. Her slightly wet, soft, ravishing lips.

“What the fuck, Yang?” Blake whispers against her finger, cheeks faintly pink, eyes shining brightly.

Yang doesn’t know why she pulled them out of sight. Instinct. Sixth sense. Childishness. She cocks her head and glances at the corridor, soon imitated by Blake. Far away, Weiss marches on the deep blue carpet, her gait even more rigid than usual. She shouldn’t be here, on the fourth floor. Her office and her suite are both located on the top floor of the hotel, and Weiss isn’t the type to go to people’s room to have a chat. She stops in front of a door, swipes her pass in the lock and opens it.

“That’s my room!” Blake exclaims in an offended breath. “What the fuck is she doing?!” She stomps out of the corner she and Yang hid in, so angry Yang can feel the tension oozing from her whole being. “I’m going to kill her. I’m so going to kill her.”

“Blake, wait.”

“What?!”

Blake suddenly turns around and they collide for the second time today. But Blake doesn’t care. She’s pale with fury, eyes shooting lightning bolts, and she’s dangerous. Jesus fuck, she’s dangerous. In the best possible way.

“When you open that door, take your time,” Yang whispers. “Let her hear you come in, let her panic.”

For a moment, Blake doesn’t say a word. She stares at Yang with undecipherable eyes, and the surfer feels small all of a sudden. And then, Blake smiles. It’s wicked. Pleased. So fucking hot.

“Come with me.”

Yang obeys, of course she does. Because she wants to catch Weiss red-handed, because she can’t say no to Blake. A few seconds later, they stand by the door, Blake deliberately sliding her pass in the wrong direction and making as much noise as possible on the doorknob, before finally swiping it correctly and entering her room.

They’re greeted with silence. Weiss is nowhere to be seen, and it takes Yang two seconds to spot the blurry movement inside the room’s closet. She smirks, silently mouths “closet” before taking a step towards Blake.

“What are you doing?” the lifeguard murmurs, and Yang keeps walking forward, eyes locked on the two fierce suns burning brighter as she gets closer.

Soon, she’s there. Right in front of Blake, wrapped in her heat, her scent, her presence. They don’t touch, and yet it’s all she can feel. Blake’s body. Her chest, her hands, her neck, her lips. Yang’s blood is boiling. A wild fire rages in Blake’s eyes and it spreads, it reaches her, it consumes her.

“Yang,” Blake breathes.

It’s not a question. It’s a warning. A strangled word, not quite a demand, not quite a plea. It says _don’t_ , it says _do_ , and it speaks for all the long gazes, all the shorten breaths, all the desire disguised in anger and contempt.

Yang leans forward. Her lips skim past Blake’s cheek and settle near her ear. “Let’s make her pay,” she whispers. Because, oh, how she wants to take her revenge on Weiss. How she wants to toy with her for every insult, every cold glare, every remark she’s thrown at Ruby and her since the moment they first met, because they weren’t good enough, because they weren’t rich enough. And now, now Weiss is trapped in a closet, and Yang knows exactly how she wants to avenge herself.

Her fingers brush Blake’s wrists and she feels the shiver, hears the sharp breath, sees the parted lips. She knows. Blake wants this, Blake wants her. They lock eyes. Time stops. And it suddenly rushes again when Blake grabs Yang’s tank top by the collar and pulls her into a greedy, ferocious kiss. Fuck. Yang groans, presses hurried hands on Blake’s waist and pushes her until she pins her against the closet and Blake gasps against her mouth. She feels impossibly aroused, impossibly happy. She feels like she’s kissing the sexiest human being on earth and scandalizing the most irritating one at the same time, and it thrills her like nothing ever did before.

Yang’s hands dart to the other girl’s belt, unbuckle it, roughly tug the leather. It drags a low moan from Blake’s gorgeous lips.

“Here?” Blake murmurs, hopeful.

Yang backs away, just enough so that she can see her face—and the icy, shocked glare flashing in the interstice between the closet’s doors.

“Here,” she grins. And she passionately kisses her again.

***

Weiss is pacing in her father’s office, checking every single detail, making sure absolutely nothing is out of place. He’ll arrive in two hours, and the mere idea of seeing him turns her stomach upside down. Not only does she viscerally hate him, but she also has to be certain he’ll never find out about _the incident_. And that adds a colossal amount of stress on her already shitty day.

It was supposed to start well. She was supposed to be relaxed and ready to confront her father—because every single one of their meetings is a confrontation and nothing else—. But, of course, the universe would interfere and the first persons she saw this morning had to be Blake and Yang. Both so impudent, both so fucking impossible to ignore. Because they are so—so—Weiss winces, thinking about Blake’s disdainful face, about Yang’s cocky smile. They are so _there_. So _present_. So freaking shining all the time, drawing attention wherever they go, because everything they do is rude and out of place and infuriating and—

No. Weiss takes a deep breath. No, no, no. She is Weiss Schnee. Future owner of the Schnee hotel corporation. A refined woman, with delicate taste, outstanding manners and an unshakable mind capable of turning every negotiation in her favor. One day, she’ll rule a small and yet powerful empire, and she can’t let two random girls get in her head and mess with it.

So, Weiss collects herself and goes back to her thorough check up. Her eyes scan the room. It looks exactly as her father left it one month ago. Maybe, with a bit of chance, he won’t notice. Maybe he’ll never know, maybe he won’t find out and decide to destroy someone’s life because of a—not so tiny—mistake. She takes a closer look at the shelves, tries to remember where every object, every book was placed before _the incident_ , and then moves to his desk. She opens the drawers one by one, making sure she did put every stack of papers back where they belonged, and as neatly as she found them. She spots a disorganized pile of newspapers in the last drawer and takes it out to set it straight—because her father will notice anything that doesn’t conform to his obsessive, inflexible mind.

A newspaper slips on the desk. Weiss grabs it, and freezes. No. No fucking way. A picture of Adam Taurus, that infamous embezzler who finally got caught and sent to jail a couple of months ago, is displayed on the front page. And there, in the background, that girl. That upset looking girl with silky raven hair. That’s Blake. Weiss reads the article, eyes bulging, hands shaking.

“I knew it!” She slams the newspaper on the desk, a surge of pride and excitement warming her cheeks. “I fucking knew it!”

She takes a picture with her phone, tidies up the desk, puts the newspapers away in the drawer and hurries out of the office, dead set on confronting Blake and showing the whole world she was right, she was so freaking right. Blake is fake.As she stomps into the corridor, it occurs to her that she might need more than a very tiny note in an obscure article to prove her point. No, she needs proof, proof that Blake isn’t here because of her passion for her lifeguard job—a state governor’s daughter deciding to pursue a career as a lifeguard? _Please_ —but because of him. For him. For Adam Taurus, and his lust for money—and this time, the Schnee family’s money. Just because the guy is in jail doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have minions working for him all over the country. The article did say it loud and clear: Blake and Adam used to date until he got arrested, and who’s to say they aren’t still dating now?

That’s when Weiss’s genius strikes and she decides to do what any decent person would do in this situation: snoop around Blake’s room to find evidence of her ties with Adam Taurus, or that she’s collecting confidential information on the Schnee corporation for him. Weiss has a master key after all. And Blake should be watching the beach all afternoon, so now is the perfect time. She just needs one clue, one indicator that Blake and Adam are still in touch, one note about the Schnee hotel’s financial reports, and she’ll be able to prove Blake’s only here to scam them. And then, then Weiss will get her banned from the hotel grounds and will finally get rid of her.

So, she hops into the elevator, gets out at the fourth floor and sneaks her way into Blake’s room. A quick look confirms what she already knows: Blake is messy. Her suitcase stands wide open on the floor, throwing up unfolded clothes, mismatched socks, some surprisingly lacy underwear that makes Weiss spin around to face the other way—she doesn’t need to know _that_ side of Blake, though now she does wonder, is Blake having some fun here too, on top of collecting information on the Schnee family for her crook of a boyfriend?—.

She doesn’t have time to make assumptions. Someone loudly swaps a pass in the lock and Weiss’s heart sinks into her stomach. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no no no. She acts on instinct. Bolts to the closet. Shuts herself behind the thin wooden doors. It’s not the first time she’s been trapped here, she realizes. She used to hide in a closet whenever her parents got into those devastating fights, voices too loud to be ignored, anger echoing on marble countertops. She sat there, small and alone, until the rage passed, until Winter came looking for her and took her to her bedroom, a safe place away from cold bitterness flowing from whisky bottles or burning at the tip of a cigar. But this, now, is totally different.

It’s not conflict she’s running away from. It’s Blake. Blake, whose room she’s trespassing on, Blake who just opened the door and walked right in, followed by… Yang? What the hell? Weiss snaps her hand on her mouth to contain her surprised breath and literally liquifies when Yang’s purple gaze sets on the closet. Weiss can see her through the interstice between the two doors, and for a dreadful moment she wonders if Yang can see her too. But no. Yang just turns around, stares at Blake and smirks, and that, that smile, smug and malicious and dark, that scares Weiss even more than the idea of Blake finding out she’s hiding in her closet. And what is Yang even doing here? Doesn’t Blake hate her?

Yang walks towards Blake and suddenly the closet feels impossibly tiny, crushing Weiss to the point she can barely breathe. For the second time in less than a minute, her heart sinks like lead. Oh, no. She knows. She feels it. The tension in the air, the way Blake imperceptibly flinched, the heavy glow overtaking Yang’s gaze. Oh, fuck no. Not right now. Please. Everything but that. Everything but them.

Whispers break the air, a choked name, rustles of clothes when Yang leans forward and breathes inaudible thoughts in Blake’s ear, and suddenly they’re kissing, groaning, gasping, and when Yang slams Blake against the closet Weiss has to bite her finger not to yelp, not to give herself out, not to scream her utter shock away.

How is this happening. What is even happening. Blake _hates_ Yang. Obnoxious, loud, excessive Yang. How is she kissing her right now. Why are they there. A breath away from Weiss.

“Here?”

“Here.”

She can’t see them anymore, only feel the wood vibrating with their intense desire. Nails dragging on oak. Muffled knocks filling the cramped space. Moans strangling her heart.

Weiss can’t move. She wants to run. Far, far away. Run to the sea. To Winter’s room. But she’s trapped. Not just inside that closet, but within her own body. Her legs froze, her hands are clutching her dress and she can barely breathe. There’s a tingle in her lower abdomen, one that grows at each gasp escaping anonymous lips on the other side of the wooden panel.

“Fuck, Blake.”

It’s a whisper. And yet it hits louder than an earthquake. Weiss’s heart is now racing to the point it aches.

“You’re so… so…”

The tips of her ears are burning.

“Shut up, Yang. Just do me.”

She feels like she’s melting. And she can’t. She can’t melt. She can’t acknowledge her now drenched underwear against her skin. Not like that. Not because of them. Those—those two— _insufferable_ women.

“Oh, fuck. Yes—Get on your knees, I want you to suck my clit.”

 _Jesus fuck_. Blake is so controlling. Yang is so obedient. They’re both so hot. God _dammit_. Weiss is now so painfully aroused she might cry. She wasn’t supposed to find out this way. That she might not be that straight. That every man who courted her until now disgusted her for a reason. She wants to scream her lust and her shame until she can’t hear them anymore, hear those scandalous wet noises, scandalous moans, scandalous everything. But she can’t. She has to listen, until the very end, until Blake’s orgasm echoes in her whole body and blinds her with mad desire, until Yang kisses Blake before leaving the room and Blake locks herself in her bathroom. Only then can Weiss open the closet doors with trembling fingers and escape Blake’s room. Only then can she run away from what she always dreaded.

Blake and Yang are insufferable women, and she’s unbearably attracted to them.

***

After Yang leaves, Blake takes the longest shower of her life. She’s not washing her sin away or anything. She doesn’t regret this. Yang. Them. Weiss. But there’s a strange feeling in her stomach she can’t quite place. It’s not shame or remorse, nothing like that. But it’s still a disconcerting feeling, a fainted bitterness on her tongue that makes her frown and stay in the shower for half an hour. Somehow, it feels like… Yang won. Yang fucking won. She saw right past Blake’s irritation and saw it for what it truly was, pure, absolute want. And she played her well, oh, she did. In front of Weiss. God. Oh god. What have they done.

Blake hides her face in her hands. Her skin is burning, and it’s not because of the hot water. It was so—so— _good_. And lewd. And insane. She let Yang fuck her. Against a closet. _While Weiss was watching_. And it felt so fucking right, so fucking good, because it was Yang’s fingers on her body, in her body, because it was Weiss’s shuddering breaths she could sometimes hear right there, behind her, so close and yet so far away. And it blew her mind, all of it. She wanted this. Not just Yang. She wanted the three of them in the same room, she wanted that unnerving tension to suddenly break into something more. She still does. She wants it. Yang. Weiss. Them, together, the arrogant grins, the cold stares, the power plays. Them forcing her on her knees, her pressing them against the wall. God, oh god. She came _hard_ a few moments ago, and she’s already craving for more.

She doesn’t even have to check the closet to know Weiss left. Blake gave her plenty of time to escape, and now her scent lingers in the room. The air smells like the lush products Blake got for her birthday, like comfort and luxury. It makes her a bit dizzy.

Blake is not angry anymore. She got her revenge, thanks to Yang, and only a guarded curiosity remains. Why was Weiss here? She should ask her. She should trap her in her office and confront her about this. But that’d mean admitting she _knew_. That Weiss was there. That Weiss could hear. See, maybe. It’d mean admitting she didn’t mind her presence, that she took pleasure in it. And that? That will never happen.

That night, when she crosses the lobby to meet Sun and Ilia, she avoids Yang’s blazing stare from across the room. This was not a mistake, but it was a one-time thing. It doesn’t deserve to be acknowledged. It will stay a memory, vivid, consuming, painful—in the best possible way.

And it will never happen again.

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy suffering Weiss WAY too much.


End file.
